Assembling the Fragments
by Starlit Anabelle
Summary: Since his escape, the Winter Soldier has sifted through fragments of reality and memory, trying to piece back together his shattered mind. And then along comes a powerful being offering redemption and stability in exchange for help with a mission. All it requires is one single word...


Author's Note-Hi guys! So I wrote a thing. This is set towards the end of season four-beginning of season five of Supernatural. For the MCU, it's about a couple months or so after the Ultron conflict. For the disclaimer, I don't own Supernatural nor do I own the MCU. However, Phanuel is my own original character, albeit taken from actual lore. Ultimately it's kind of a prequel oneshot for a fic I've kinda been working on called _Light of the Frozen Star_ -and will hopefully have posted up here someday. Until then though, I hope you can be content with this much. Enjoy~

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 _Patterpatterpatterpatter_ -

Eyes stared blankly out the window, watching the gray city and the ever-darkening clouds as the rain poured down and pedestrians skittered to dryness and warmth below. In the distance, he could hear thunder boom, flickers of preceding lightning briefly lighting up the abandoned apartment he was currently taking up residence in, casting long dark shadows across the floor and the walls and reflecting dully off his metal hand.

" _Thanks. Name's-_ "

" _I'm surprised you even managed to survive for this lo-_ "

" _C'mon, don't you have any other hob-_ "

" _Ste-_ "

" _I don't want to just sit around and-"_

 _"Don't worry. I'll be back before you know-"_

 _"I'm going to get you out of he-"_

 _"Bu-"_

 _"Let's hear it f-"_

 _"Ste-"_

 _"-rica!"_

 _"BUCKY-!"_

 _"Bucky-_ "

The man's eyes squeezed tight and he reached up to press the cool metal hand to his forehead as images and sounds and phrases continued to flash through his brain. It happened sometimes, sporadically. Sometimes in full memories, but that was rare. More often it was a quick whirlwind, bits and pieces but never quite all there. Grasping at them was about as easy as gripping water as it all seemed to filter and slide right between his fingers.

" _Bucky?_ "

Another flash of lightning, followed closely by a deafening clap of thunder. The storm was getting closer.

He'd been trying to recover his memories ever since he'd snapped out of HYDRA's spell-well, mostly. Sometimes his lucidity slipped, sometimes for several minutes or even several hours he would think he was on some mission, or waiting for a brand new mission. Sometimes he'd find himself in a spot where he'd received information on previous missions, sometimes he'd find himself waiting for a superior who was never set to come-or one who was already dead. Memories from the distant past and the recent past and the present would all begin to flow together and mix into a confusing mess and-

 _"Who the hell is Bucky?_ "

And then sometimes he would remember a few things and have enough wherewithal to realize the state of everything in the past and present. He would be lucid enough to think for himself, to realize the crimes and atrocities he committed, the pain and deaths he was responsible for. He would often take advantage of these moments and use them to start trying to put together some of the pieces, to research, to try and figure out just who the hell he was beyond a mere name. He would remember the experiments, how he was being tortured and used for so long. He would have scattered fragments of childhood, patches of military service. He would catch glimpses of faces, blips of words, sentences, voices and people and-

 _"I know him."_

His friend.

 _"Then finish it…'cause I'm with you 'til the end of the line."_

But for now, it was growing dark.

And he was growing tired.

His hand dropped but his eyes were still closed. His head leaned back against the wall, dark hair falling around his face and shoulders. He was just beginning to drift off, or at least trying to focus and grasp at just a bit more of that memory that sped on by before all his senses-he was getting a little bit better at it with each passing day, provided he had the right place and atmosphere and state of mind for it.

And that was when he started to hear ringing.

His eyebrows furrowed for a moment. At first he thought it was just in his mind-but if it was, it was certainly new. His body, speaking in understatements, was in adequate enough shape without much concern of truly going downhill-ever. Concern about hearing issues, like deafness, was nonexistent.

And yet the sound just kept on getting higher.

And higher.

And _louder_.

The pitch was escalating without any sign of stopping. Briefly he wondered if he'd slipped at some point, confused about where he was, what might've just happened, if the ringing in his ears was the aftermath of a bomb going off, but it was _still_ building. What the hell was going on?

With a pained grunt, he pressed his hands over his ears, but the pressure in his head was building. The fingers of his real hand were beginning to feel wet and warm and sticky; the eyes that were shut tight suddenly snapped open wide, and as they did, he could see cracks spidering rapidly up the glass.

And yet the sound was _still_ building.

His mind was beginning to drift, his body was beginning to stiffen and seize up and ultimately toppled out of the window seat and onto the wooden floor. As everything began to blur and swirl around him, a feeling of panic and horror accompanied the sensation as he could've sworn he saw electricity snap and crackle before his eyes, eyes he did not realize were-for the moment-turned upwards towards the window, towards the dark sky that flashed with lightning.

And then suddenly…it stopped.

 **'James Buchanan Barnes.'**

The man bolted upright, eyes wide as he looked around. The voice-while calm and almost soothing-seemed to come from everywhere and yet nowhere at once. He could see no speaker.

"Where-" he began, but suddenly stopped. Stopped because he suddenly realized he could think straight. No holes…no gaps, no flashes…no…slips. Suddenly his mind was…clear. Clearer than it had been in a long time, since before he was ever captured by HYDRA.

And as he reached back into his memories, he was suddenly overcome with a wave of them from his time as the Winter Soldier. The people he had killed, the…things that he had done. The things that he was forced to do, it was all coming back to him, and for as long as he'd been around-it was quickly starting to become too much-

He had opened Pandora's box, and forcing himself to try and focus on the matter at hand was all he could do to keep from getting overwhelmed, lost in the memories and regret over the things he had done. Climbing to his feet, he frowned, pausing for a moment to check his fingertips, then to bring them back up to his face and check again. Something had busted; his ears were bleeding. And yet his hearing seemed to have no problem at all. He slowly turned around as his eyes darted-well, everywhere-and truly finding no one at all. "Who are you?" he called out. " _Where_ are you?"

 **'Phanuel. I cannot reveal myself to you as my true visage would be harmful. Please do not panic. I am an angel of the lord who has come to help.'**

"An angel?" The man frowned. Even though the entity had already claimed he was hiding himself, his eyes would never still in trying to find it. "Why would an angel want to help me of all people?"

 **'Because you, James Barnes, have been chosen to carry out God's work. Because I need you just as much as you need me. We can help each other.'**

As he opened his mouth to respond, he suddenly felt a touch on his forehead, a scene flashing before his eyes. He and a blond as young teenagers, heading on home. The blond with a black eye and busted lip, wiping away blood.

 _"I'm surprised you even managed to survive for this long."_

 _The shrimpy blond shot him a look as he lowered his hand from his chin. The pair was heading down the street as the sun was starting to get low in the sky. There was a slight chill in the air-winter was coming. "Somebody had to step in. Nobody else was going to get those bullies to back off from that girl."_

 _"Something tells me that girl could've handled herself against them. At least better than you did, anyway."_

 _"Shut up."_

 _He shot the blond a grin before shaking his head. "Seriously, Steve. C'mon, don't you have any other hobbies?"_

 _"What, like you with your science fairs?" Steve asked. He shook his head. "I'd rather be out there changing the world. Fighting to make it a better place. Not sitting at some dusty chalkboard working on equations all day."_

 _"Science_ can _change the world, genius. For the better," he countered, rolling his eyes. "The only thing that fighting brings about is more pain. To everybody."_

And suddenly he was out of it, back in the apartment, staring back at the bare wall in front of him. Vaguely he was aware that the window had pretty much shattered at this point, it must've back when he was still on the floor, and now the rain was pouring in. He blinked a few times, hard, as he looked down at the floor now strewn with glass shards, then over towards the window, out at the world beyond. "Why me? What do you want me to do?"

 **'You want to see your friend, Steven.'**

Wasn't exactly an answer, more like a mindreading. Yes, he wanted to see Steve. Of course he did, now that he was…that he was sure he was stable.

 **'You are not. Not yet.'**

The man frowned. "You're toying with me."

 **'I am proving myself to you. This state of stabilized lucidity, of clear memory-it is only temporary. Without your cooperation, it is all that I can manage to do. But I can fix it. I can make it permanent. But I require aid in my mission-'**

"And what mission is this?" the man demanded, an edge of impatience creeping into his tone.

 **'To help your friend. To guide him on his destined path.'**

"Steve," the man said. Well of course Steve-how many other friends were still even alive in this day and age? "Why are you interested in Steve?"

 **'He has a part to play in the lord's plan. But there is the danger that he will stray. It is my job-and yours-to guide him. To make sure he does not end up following the path of evil.'**

"He would never do that."

 **'Perhaps. But before becoming the Winter Soldier-would you?'**

The man pursed his lips, feeling just a tinge of anger. "And when all this is over…my memories will be back. I'll be stable-permanently."

 **'I can heal you. The damage that has been done to your memories, the neurons that have been destroyed-all of that will be repaired. You could do good things. You could help your friends. You can set right the wrongs of your past for I am the angel of repentance. But in order for any of that to happen, I need you to say yes.'**

The man was quiet for a moment as he considered this. He didn't know what this was, who it was-but he definitely got the feeling it wasn't some HYDRA trap. For the first time in a long time he felt right, normal, if not terrible, and of _course_ he wanted to make up for the things he'd done. Of course he was going to help out Steve in whatever way possible-especially if his friend was in danger and in over his head.

 _"I'm with you 'til the end of the line, pal."_

So staring up at the ceiling, he uttered a single word.

"Yes."

And suddenly it wasn't just the lightning casting shadows on the walls.

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Author's Note-Alright, so until I get _Frozen Star_ up and posted, that's a wrap on this for now. Hope you enjoyed the fic. Feel free to drop a review by though-they're very encouraging! Any flames will be used to light up rings of holy oil.


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